


Ravens

by manifestationofprocrastination



Category: (Original Work)
Genre: Addiction, Adoption, Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Suicide, Cult, Familiars, Fatal car accident, Homophobia, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, M/M, MTF character, Magic, Major character death - Freeform, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mental Illness, Multi, Obsession, Orphanage, Orphans, Paraplegia, Pheromones, Polyamorous relationship, Primal Urges/Instincts, Reference to Wicca, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Stalker, Stalking, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Transphobia, Unrequited Love, Witchcraft, Witches, illegal drug use, single parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manifestationofprocrastination/pseuds/manifestationofprocrastination
Summary: Damien is a normal human being. Sure, let’s go with that. He’s a third-to-last chair cellist, an adoptive son, a distant friend, a shitty busboy, a cheesy horror film junkie, a music-lover, and a ferret-owner.Life is boring. Life is hard. Life is stupid.Trying to bounce back from attempting suicide, he tries to find purpose in his life. He feels useless. He feels weak. He absolutely despises his life, even if it “isn’t as bad as some of the less-fortunate” as his adoptive parents like to tell him. He hates himself for hating his life. He hates himself for hating himself.Damien hates himself a little less when—in a crazy, coincidental turn of events—he’s met with a stranger that practically forces his hatred to be focused elsewhere: on him.





	Ravens

     That day felt very odd for him—rightfully so, he quickly found. He had been called out to survey a portion of the main city’s outskirts that he hadn’t patrolled before. Once he arrived in the area in his used pick-up truck, he felt something… _strange_ pulling him. It wasn’t in any particular direction, nor was it tugging at any particular part of him. He couldn’t quite identify the energy he felt. All he knew was that it was a sense of familiarity—something that took him back to his childhood.

_No_ , he thought to himself, _I really don’t want to revisit any of that_ ….

     He attempted to push away those thoughts, but he found himself remembering a certain chestnut-haired, bright-eyed boy. Images of the kind, mature soul flashed in his mind and prompted memories of working on schoolwork and drawing favorite TV show characters side-by-side on the wooden floor. A different feeling unmasked itself: heartbreak. As if the sense of nostalgia had only shifted, melancholy and woe arose with memories of blood and bruises, band-aids and gauze… and irreversible wounds. He felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat. _Stop thinking_ , he silently told himself as he tightly shut his watering eyes. He had a job to do.

* * *

 

     He meandered about, paying no mind to the hectic scene surrounding him. The ash-blonde boy was tired, and he was immersed in the incessantly growing pull he felt—memories from seven plus years ago pricking at the back of his subconscious. He eventually came to a stop when he noticed a pair of red converse halt a couple yards in front of him, abruptly scuffing the concrete. Looking up from the ground, the hoodie-wearing teenager took in a mess of chestnut hair.

_What…?_ His heart leapt up to his throat as the pain and nostalgia he had been feeling intensified. Unsuccessfully attempting to ignore such strong feelings induced by seeing the stranger, he decided to finally observe his surroundings. He soon realized exactly where they both stopped; they were waiting for the crosswalk light to change. The individual in front of him seemed to sway and waver; this was possibly only visible to him because of his advanced senses. He could hear a pounding heart and rushing blood. Then, he smelled it: blood.

     His senses sharpened and it suddenly seemed like the world was moving too fast. The boy before him lazily looked downward, then back up at the unchanging crosswalk sign that warned pedestrians not to walk. It appeared that the brown-haired stranger would faint at any second. He began to step out into the street, leaving behind noticeable drops of blood on the concrete. Panic washed over the boy behind him. He wanted to call out to him, but no words would form in his mind, let alone leave his lips. Just as swiftly as the shorter of the two had begun walking into the intersection, a heavy truck horn sounded. The pedestrian remained unresponsive, continuing on his drudging way. The blonde’s head jerked to face the source of the blaring horn. An approaching semi-truck drove nearer and nearer to where the boy had stepped out into the street. He was going to be hit. There was no way he’d survive if he was.

     In only a split-second, all the memories the hooded teenager had been trying to repress for the past hour or so replayed in his mind. Instead of his own life flashing before his eyes, he saw childhood memories of the person he missed so much—the person he had been led to believe that he killed himself in a horrible turn of events. At that moment, it all seemed to make sense to him. His feet left the ground and stirred the dirt and debris in a flurry. He lunged forward, and his mouth opened to let out a shout that just felt right in that heated moment:

     “Damien!”

     A bloody face instantaneously turned back in response to the name being called; his long, chestnut bangs exposed his bright eyes for a fraction of a second. They widened at the sight before them. Their bodies crashed together; the larger of the two pushed the other out of harm’s way with inhuman speed and strength, using his entire body’s weight and his mysteriously protective instinct to save him.

     The truck passed, just barely clipping the blonde one’s shoe. The bleeding one was knocked out on impact with the asphalt as the semi noisily skidded and screeched to a halt, nearly crashing into another car in the process. The world had turned to black and the unconscious individual was no longer just bleeding from his nose.

_“Damien”?_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, anyone that for some reason decides to read this! I’m Max. I’m working on a story that I’d like to get opinions on... and this story has been brewing in my brain (with the help of a friend) for about 6-7 months. This is a story I very much want to tell, for it tackles topics that I feel should be focused on. 
> 
> It’s about a boy that acquires a very strange and unfamiliar stalker after being saved from a near-death experience. Damien (the boy) will find himself face-to-face with a guy that claims to know him, yet Damien has absolutely no recollection of this dude. 
> 
> This guy spends what seems like every waking moment (particularly at night) to stalk Damien. The frustration within him only festers and builds due to their little exchanges, until a tragedy occurs. 
> 
> Everything in Damien’s life turns to shit... and then his stalker shows up once again, makes him an offer that he can’t resist, and Damien starts to wonder if all the bullshit this dude is telling him is actually true. 
> 
> Little does Damien know, a whole world of unbelievable shit awaits him. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy. I’m not sure how much I’ll end up writing out, but WARNING: This deals with some very dark and controversial themes. Reader discretion is advised.


End file.
